The Soldiers Underground
by Lilou Arceneau
Summary: Hype is just a normal Manhattan newsie-that is, everyone else thinks she is, and she'd like to keep it that way. Welcome to the Army.
1. Prologue

"Hey, Hype, you okay?" Asked a tall, dark-skinned boy. His shirt rippled softly over his huge muscles as he stood up. He had been walking along, when he stopped and bent down to gently set down the huge firearm he had been carrying over his shoulder and check to see if it was loaded with ammo, when he noticed his best friend Hype, had stopped walking and was staring up at the night sky.

Hype looked at him, and gave a small reassuring smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. She quickly caught up to him, and they started walking again.

"Yeah, why do yah ask?" She asked. The huge boy gave her a look, but didn't say anything. She frowned and looked down at her feet.

"Can I'se tell yah somethin'?" She asked. The boy nodded. "Okay, but yah can't tell no one. And I'se mean _no one._."

"Alrigh'." He agreed. Hype sighed.

"I'm not okay. I'se hate it. I'se hate lying tah them, Tank, I'se hate it!"

"Keep yoah voice down!" The huge boy called Tank whisper-yelled to her. "Yah gonna give us away." Usually Hype would chastise him for yelling at her, but this time she let it slide. They walked in silence for a bit.

"Listen," Tank sighed. "I know yah don't like it, and neithah do I, but you'se signed up foah this, remembah? And you'se knew as well as I'se did about the consequences."

Hype had to bite her tongue to keep from yelling.

"I'se didn't sign up foah this!" She whisper-yelled back. "_They_ recruited _us_, remembah?"

"Yeah, but _they_ also gave _us_ a choice." Tank argued back. Hype didn't have an answer. He was completely right. She had been given a choice. And she chose the most dangerous option. And with it came consequences.

"Heah we are." Hype slowed to a stop. To any untrained eye, it looked just like an old abandoned warehouse. But as Tank and Hype knew, it most certainly was not.

"Where were we supposed tah meet 'em again?" Tank asked.

"Geronimo told me the East gate is the least guarded, so I'se told him tah tell the rest of the team tah meet us there."

"Oh yeah. I see it, It's ovah there." Tank nodded to a door with a huge chain and padlock on it.

"Stay down and follow me." Hype reached down her pants and pulled out a Balisong butterfly knife. It was very futuristic-looking, considering the year was 1900.

"_But then again, so is all of our weaponry,_" she thought. She crouched into a low position, and keeping in the shadows, she crept to the East gate. Tank followed close behind, his firearm on safety lock so he wouldn't accidentally set it off and give away their position. Hype signaled for Tank to stop. Slowly, she crept out of the shadows, her knife plan was for the whole team to split up and go to the warehouse at different times, so they wouldn't cause any suspicion. Hype and Tank were the last of the team to get there. Hype would go in front, while Tank would be the back-up. If Hype was to spot one of the enemy, she would quickly cover their mouths and slit their throat before they could make a sound. If anything went wrong, Tank would have her back. Hype trusted Tank with her life. That was why Hype was the team leader, She had the wits, the moves, and was a good judge of character. And that was why Tank was her second-in-command. He was big-no, scratch that, he was huge. Not to say he wasn't smart, because he was. Tank was from Brooklyn, and everyone knows that in Brooklyn you gotta have both the brains, and the brawn. Hype was from Manhattan, the slyest and the friendliest of all the boroughs.

Hype didn't see anyone. She walked towards the heavily locked door and examined the padlock.

"Shouldn't be too hard for Geronimo to crack open," she muttered to herself. "If all else fails, I'll just have Ammo blow it up. Nothin' like a grand entrance to make a good foist impression on those bastards." Hype turned around and whistled their team's signature whistle, the cry of a blue jay. After a three second pause, the shadows came alive. A small boy with windswept hair jumped out from a trashcan. From one of the beams above Hype's head, a lean girl with dirty-blonde hair and a permanent scowl on her face jumped down from her hiding place. Tank came out of the shadows. A muscular boy who looked almost identical to Tank crawled out from the sewers. A girl with brown hair and kind-looking eyes walked out from behind a fence.

"Great job, Geronimo!" Hype held up her hand for a high-five with the small boy with the windswept hair. Geronimo, whose real name was Jerome, was the youngest out of all in their team. At a mere 14 years old, Geronimo was Hype's bird. Whenever she wanted to do some digging, or find a vital piece of information, like how heavily guarded a certain place was, she'd send Geronimo. Since he was so small, he blended in almost anywhere. He was also quite handy with locks, and by the time he was 7, he was already an expert lock-picker. Hailing from Ireland, Geronimo was a Queens newsie.

"Thanks." Geronimo blushed and slapped her a high-five.

"Where were you'se? I thought we agreed 9:00 P.M." The girl with a scowl on her face snapped. She was Strobe, the best fighter and also the one with the worst temper in their team. Well, she was from Harlem.

"Look Strobe, I'se tried, but Jack and the boys wanted to know where I'se was going, and you'se know how I'se hate lying to them, and then I'se had to meet Tank, but he wasn't there, so I'se had to find Spot-"

"Oh, I'se see." Strobe smirked, cutting Hype off. Hype's face hardened.

"What was that?"

"I'se said," Strobe spat back. "I'se see." Hype said nothing, only glaring daggers at Strobe. She was a pain in the ass, but she was a martial arts prodigy, so therefore a necessity to the team.

"You'se had to go see _Spot." _Strobe spat again, this time, with a little bit more venom.

"Listen, just because you'se dated him once and he dumped you'se after two weeks doesn't mean you'se can take it out on me. Not my fault if Spot is my friend." Hype argued back. Strobe was about to retort when the girl with kind eyes interrupted.

"Guys, we'se on a mission, or did you'se forget that?" Her name was Patch, and she was the team "doctor." She earned her nickname by being able to fix any injury, anywhere, at anytime. She was from The Bronx, which was like the Switzerland of the buroughs.

"Yeah, come on, you'se can argue about who loves Spot more afteh the mission." Joked the large boy who looked like Tank's twin. He was the team's weapon specialist, and like Patch, also from The Bronx.

"Shut up, Ammo. Anyways, Patch's right, we'se got woik tah do." Hype agreed.

"Wait a sec guys, I'se got something cool tah show yah." Ammo cut in. "'Kay, so you know how a few weeks ago I'se was woikin' on somethin' special?" Everyone nodded. "Well heah it is." From his belt, Ammo pulled off a small, round object. He threw it up into the air and caught it with one hand.

"Wow. A grenade. Amazin'." Strobe scowled at him. "Any more fascinatin' inventions yah wanna share with us?"

"No, dumbass, this is more than a grenade. Think about it. What do yah know about grenades?"

"They blow up on impact." Geronimo answered.

"Right. This one doesn't. Instead of blowin' up, it lights on fire, setting the object it was thrown at on fire."

"Sweet!" Tank whistled. "Imagine what hell I'se could raise in Brooklyn with one of those babies."

"That's it!" Ammo suddenly cried.

"What's it?"

"That's what I'll name 'em. Hellraisers!" Ammo grinned, obviously pleased with his new creation.

"Alrigh' alrigh, well that's all fine and dandy. Now, the mission?" Hype was getting annoyed. It was already close to 10:30 and they haven't even started yet. Big Daddy would not be pleased.

"I even made some for you'se guys!" Ammo reached for his belt again and gave two Hellraisers to every team member.

"Alrigh', suits on." Hype instructed. They immediately began stripping off their clothes to reveal sleek, formfitting black leather suits underneath.

"Weapons check. I'se got two handguns, two Hellraisers, and one butterfly. Tank.?"

"Two Hellraisers, one firearm, one handgun."

"Ammo?"

"Two Hellraisers, one handgun, one bazooka."

"Pa- wait, bazooka?"

"Hey, I ain't called Ammo for nuthin'" He replied with a cheeky smile.

"Okay. Patch?"

"Two handguns, two Hellraisers, one machete."

"Strobe?"

"Two Hellraisers, my bare hands."

"Good enough. Geronimo?"

"Four handguns, two Hellraisers, one chain, one switchblade."

"Alrigh', ready?" Hype made a fist with her right hand and stuck it out. The rest immediately followed suit and stacked their fists up on top of hers. That was sort of their thing.

"Geronimo?" Hype asked.

"I'm on it." From deep within his suit, Geronimo fished out a hairpin and a needle, and immediately began picking the lock. After a minute, the door smoothly slid open.

Hype stared into the darkness. "Let's go give our guests a proper welcome party." Hype fearlessly stepped into the darkness like a true leader, and like a true team, the rest followed closely behind.

* * *

A/N

Heey fellow newsie luuuvers! Tell me what you thought! Oh, just thought I'd let you know that Balisong is pronounced "BAH-LEE-song" not "Ball-EYE-song" ;D


	2. Selling with Race

"Racetrack, think fast!"

WHAM

"Ow! Hype, yah jehk, that was me hoit wrist!"

"You liar, yoah wrist ain't hoit! You're just sayin' that to get sympathy from goils!"

"Yeah, and it's woiking!"

"You wish, asshole!"

Jack watched in amusement from the doorway as Manhattan's only girl newsie fought with Manhattan's crazy gambling Italian newsie.

"Lemme see you're wrist."

"No, you'll hoit it more!"

"It ain't hoit!"

"Alrigh', alrigh', break it up, we gotta go buy papes." Jack stepped in. Hype shook Racetrack off of her and stood up to give Jack a friendly clap on the back.

"Good morning, Cowboy."

"Morning, Hype."

"Hey, what about me?" Kid Blink stepped in front of Jack. "Don't I get some soit of greetin'?"

"Fuck off, Blink." Hype giggled at the fake-hurt look on his face.

"Ouch, sugah, that hoit!" Hype stuck out her tongue at him, and bent down to pick up her hat that she had previously beamed Race with.

"Heya, Hype!" Mush stepped around Blink and kissed her hand. Being Manhattan's only girl newsie, Hype got pampered a lot. In the lodging house, she got her own room, she got dibs on the bathroom anytime she needs to, and she was always first in line at the distribution center. Hype was like their little sister, and they were fiercely protective of her.

"Alright, enough chit-chat, yah bums, we gotta go carry the banner." Hype joked. The boys laughed, and Race linked arms with her as they exited the lodging house and walked to the distribution center. As they were walking, Hype looked around warmly at all the boys surrounding her.

"_My boys_," she thought. "_They're my boys_."

* * *

"Um, Hype, can you _frickin' _hurry up!"

"Alright, alright!"

Hype girl pushed her way through the throng of newsies and caught up to Race.

"Wonder what the headlines are gonna be this time; last time they wasn't so good." She commented. They were waiting in line at the distribution center to buy some newspapers to sell.

"Yeah, no kiddin'," Race scoffed. "Hey, Skittery, come 'ere!" Skittery ran over with fifty papers tucked under his arm.

"Hiya, Race, Hype." Skittery tipped his hat to her.

"Hey, Skitty." Hype affectionately punched his arm. Skittery gave her a look but didn't say anything. Hype was the only one he ever allowed to call him "Skitty."

"So what's the news?" Race asked. Skittery handed him one of his papers. The headline read:

**RUMOURS OF UNDERGROUND ARMY?**

"Apperantly, there are some rumours goin' around in Washington about Roosevelt formin' an underground army. Bunch 'a' baloney if you ask me." Skittery lit up a cigarette.

"People will do anythin' just to sell a measly pape, huh?"

"Yeah, we will do anythin' just to sell a measly pape, Skitty." Hype snickered. Race chuckled at Skittery's confused face.

"Skitty, wake up! We're newsies. That's sorta what we do."

"Oh." Skittery laughed. "Yeah. I forgot."

"Well, at least we won't 'ave tah make up any headlines. These are crazy enough tah sell by themselves." Hype and Race both waved goodbye to Skittery, and bought a hundred papes.

Racetrack was proud to say he was Hype's very best friend, out of all the newsies. They did everything together, they ate together, walked together, joked together, fought together, and sold together. Today, as usual, they were gonna sell at the races.

"I don't know why you bothah sellin' there, Race. It's full of hoity-toity suits who won't even look at yah. Plus, yah lose all yoah money."

"No I don't! I win sometimes!"

"Uh, yeah. Let's just get it ovah with."

* * *

After they were both done selling, Hype and Race headed back to the lodging house.

"So I heard Brooklyn's throwin' a huge party tomorrow at Medda's," Race told her. Hype shoved her hands in her trouser pockets.

"Yeah?"

"Yup." They walked in silence for a bit. Race knew that Brooklyn was a sensitive spot with Hype. He almost laughed at his unintentional pun. Hype had a sensitive spot for Spot. What girl didn't?

"What foah?" Hype asked.

"Spot's birthday." Hype bit her lip.

"Hm. You gonna go?" She asked.

"Yeah. Brooklyn throws the biggest parties. Not to mention, only the hottest goils show up 'cause of Sp-" He stopped himself before he finished his sentence. More silence.

"It's okay, I know what yah were gonna say." Hype finally spoke.

"Sorry, it's just…." Race didn't finish his sentence. It's just what? True? True that Spot was the hump'n'dump type? One minute he's banging a girl, the next she's already out on the street and he's in bed with another?

"I'm not even tryin' anymore. I know he only thinks of me as a friend."

Racetrack didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. The fact is, that was true. Spot did only think of Hype as another Manhattan newsie. A friend. Nothing more, nothing less. And it killed Hype.


End file.
